


louder than sirens, louder than bells

by wincechesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 07, improper use of honorifics, smh @ keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 03:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: “Yes, Sir,” Keith replies, and there’s a familiar taunting heat in his voice that Shiro knows, that he recognizes. Lance frowns over at Keith in confusion, but Keith keeps his eyes on Shiro, staring unblinkingly back at him. Shiro gives him a warning glare, but Keith just smiles.It’s in that moment that Shiro knows it’s going to be a long, long day.He’s never had an authority kink before, that he’s noticed, but Keith calling him Sir, and Captain, in that voice, laden with intent and heat and for everyone to hear—well it seems that he’s into almost anything, when it comes to Keith. It doesn’t help that the long nights spent training and drilling and strategizing have left them little time to be together, and it’s clear that Keith intends to make him suffer for it.





	louder than sirens, louder than bells

**Author's Note:**

> Feelings are hard, have some porn instead! Also nicknames are gay, apparently, and u know Keith calls Shiro "sir" like that for a reason [eyeball emoji].
> 
> This came, as so many things do, from a conversation I had with Kim. LOB U <3
> 
> Big thanks and big love as always to Meg for beta.

It starts when Shiro has the Paladins, the MFE pilots, and the entire Atlas crew lined up aboard the bridge of the Atlas.

They’re drilling battle strategy again, a constant focus at the Garrison as they rebuild their defences and wait for whatever is coming for them next. The Paladins are well-versed by now in forming Voltron, in working together, as are the MFE fighters with each other, but Shiro wants to see them all working as a unit, along with Atlas which is a weapon in its own right. He’d been up late last night making notes and planning formations on his tablet, and his own squiggly lines and scribbles are still swimming behind his eyelids.

“We’re going to work on attack strategy today, from deployment to battle formations. Keith, you and the rest of the lions will take the right flank. I want to start with you all separated, and then we’ll work on forming Voltron in the heat of battle.”

“Yes, Sir,” Keith replies, and there’s a familiar taunting heat in his voice that Shiro knows, that he recognizes. Lance frowns over at Keith in confusion, but Keith keeps his eyes on Shiro, staring unblinkingly back at him. Shiro gives him a warning glare, but Keith just smiles.

It’s in that moment that Shiro knows it’s going to be a long, long day.

It’s subtle; Keith is still focused, giving orders to his team and responding to Shiro’s as they weave through the airspace along with the MFE fighters above the Garrison. They dance across the sky as lions, they form Voltron, and Shiro sees his late night scribblings coming to life. He’s proud of them all, proud of his team, and proud to see the long days and late nights paying off.

But every once in a while, Keith will respond to an order over the comms in _that_ voice, and Shiro’s brain is catapulted back to the bedroom in a very particular way. He’s never had an authority kink before, that he’s noticed, but Keith calling him _Sir,_ and _Captain_ , in that voice, laden with intent and heat and for everyone to hear—well it seems that he’s into almost anything, when it comes to Keith. It doesn’t help that the long nights spent training and drilling and strategizing have left them little time to be together, and it’s clear that Keith intends to make him suffer for it.

By the time they regroup on the bridge, Shiro is overheated and half-hard beneath his uniform, his skin feeling too tight, like there’s a shiver sitting at the base of his spine, just fighting to be unleashed. He tamps it down, and very aggressively trains his eyes on Coran’s mustache and nowhere else.

“Well done today, everyone. I think we’re really starting to get the hang of working as a team.”

“Thanks, _Captain_ ,” Keith says, and when Shiro looks at him, a slow grin turns up one corner of his mouth. To his left, Pidge snorts.

 _Damn it, Keith_. Shiro swallows, feeling his face heat. “Uh. Right. Well that’s it for now. So, um. Have a good night?”

“Good work, Paladins,” Keith says, turning to them, and he’s definitely smiling now. “Get some rest. Same time, same place tomorrow.”

Pidge leads the way, her nose already in her tablet as she analyzes the data from today, followed by Lance, Allura and Hunk. Keith trails behind more slowly, and as he steps out of the room, he casts one long, meaningful glance over his shoulder at Shiro.

“You’re all dismissed,” Shiro tells his crew, and follows Keith hurriedly from the bridge.

——-

The door to his cabin has barely _shushed_ shut behind them before Shiro has Keith backed up against the wall, his hands tangled in Keith’s sweat-damp hair and their lips crashing together. Keith’s helmet drops from his hand to the ground with a thump, his arms coiling possessively, hungrily, around Shiro’s neck. His mouth opens under Shiro’s, lips parting for his tongue, teeth nipping at Shiro’s lips.

Shiro pants into the kiss, his fingers tightening in Keith’s hair. He drops his head to Keith’s collarbone, squeezing his eyes shut as Keith trails biting kisses up the line of his jaw.

“Keith,” he says, and his voice sounds wrecked even to his own ears. “You shouldn’t—you can’t just—”

“Can’t what, _Captain_?” Keith says, his breath hot and voice low in Shiro’s ear, and it sends a shiver down Shiro’s spine. He knows his face is red, can feel it in the heat spreading up his neck and into his cheeks.

“You know what. Call me _that_. When everyone can hear.”

Keith pulls back from him, but only far enough that he can look at him through thick lashes, his eyes huge and dark. There’s a smile on his lips that sends heat curling through Shiro’s gut. “Why? Are you not the Captain, Sir?”

Shiro groans. “You’re incorrigible,” he says and Keith’s only response is a dark, teasing laugh.

“And? What are you going to do about it, Shiro?”

His hands find Keith’s wrists, disentangling them from where they’re draped around his neck. He yanks the breastplate of the Paladin armor over Keith’s head and Keith eagerly shucks his bracers, each piece clattering to the floor. He reaches for the buttons of Shiro’s uniform but Shiro stops him, his hands closing around Keith’s wrists. Keith looks up at him, startled, and the surprised sound that bursts out of his mouth when Shiro spins him around to face the wall is delicious.

His Altean hand is bigger than his human one, and he fits it around both of Keith’s wrists, holding them high above Keith’s head. The stretch pulls Keith’s back into a beautiful arch, the lines of his muscles pulling taut under the snug fabric of the flight suit. Shiro presses himself to Keith’s back, nosing aside the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck to breathe in the smell of him, to kiss the tender skin there.

“Okay?” he says, his metal hand squeezing once around Keith’s wrists, the other skating over the muscled curves of his lithe body.

Keith makes an impatient noise, grinding back against where Shiro’s already hard. “Yes, god, Shiro, just—”

Shiro finds the zipper at the back of Keith’s neck and yanks it down, biting at the curve of muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. Keith is so strong, strung tight like a bowstring, demanding and hungry as he arches against Shiro’s body. He tastes like salt and sweat and he feels like fire in Shiro’s arms.

Shiro gets the flight suit unzipped and off his arms one by one, yanking it down his torso and off his hips. They hadn’t bothered with the lights, but he doesn’t need them to know Keith’s body, and the dim, blue emergency lights are enough to highlight the curves and shadows of him. He drags his hand down the line of Keith’s back, smooth and pale under his fingers, marred only by healing bruises and the raised marks of old scars. It’s a fighter’s body, slender and honed to a thing of beauty and devastation just like Keith’s Marmora blade.

“You just gonna look, Captain?” Keith asks, impatience mingling with teasing in his voice. “Or you gonna do something about it?”

Shiro’s eyes slide closed and he bites back the groan that rumbles up his throat, leaning into the heat that coils deep in his belly. “If I’m the Captain then that means I’m in charge doesn’t it?” His face flushes as the words leave his mouth, but there’s no one else to hear, and he’s rewarded when Keith lets loose an audible gasp.

“Yeah—yes.” He slits one eye open, then, and the look that he casts Shiro over his shoulder is a challenge. “ If you can handle that, _Sir_.”

“You— _fuck_ , Keith.” Shiro presses himself closer to Keith’s body, letting himself grind against the taut muscle of Keith’s ass. It’s good, even through the coarse fabric of his uniform pants and his underwear it’s good, but he wants to be skin on skin, to feel the slick of sweat gathering on Keith’s skin, the heat of him against his dick. He fumbles between them, opening his pants and yanking down his underwear to free himself, and they both sigh at the first brush of his naked dick against Keith’s body.

He knows it won’t be long, not with the teasing he’s endured all day or how long it’s been since they could be together like this, not with the throbbing heat already gathering in the pit of his stomach, not with the way Keith grinds himself back against Shiro. Their mingled breaths echo in the silence of the room, the hum of Atlas around them the only sound aside from their panting,  from the slick slide of their bodies against each other. Shiro flattens his hand against Keith’s hip, a teasing touch, so close to where Keith clearly wants it, and instead drags his palm upwards, thumbing over Keith’s nipple before settling it gently around Keith’s throat, his thumb fitting into the soft flesh under Keith’s jaw. He turns his head to the side and Keith goes willingly, his eyes closing and mouth parting around desperate gasps. Shiro meets him in a hungry kiss, his hips thrusting steady and hard against Keith’s ass.

Keith kisses back, all tongue and teeth and need, and Shiro gives as good as he gets. He lets up just enough to bite at Keith’s ear, at the soft tender flesh just beneath it and Keith makes a small sound that lights him up from the inside.

“Shiro,” Keith says and his voice is still demanding but there’s a tiny hint of need there, too.  “Shiro, come on.”

“What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

“Touch me, please.”

Shiro smiles, lays a kitten lick up the gorgeous line of Keith’s neck, tasting the sweat there. “I am touching you.” Keith makes a frustrated sound, grinds back hard against Shiro’s dick. Shiro’s eyes roll back and he stifles his gasp into Keith’s skin but he doesn’t move, his hand still cupped around Keith’s throat. Keith's pulse hammers against his fingers and his hands twist in the grip of his prosthetic hand, not trying to get free, but desperate for something.

“You know what I mean!”

“Then ask me properly.” He’s going to be embarrassed about this later, is not going to be able to look anyone else in the eye who calls him Captain ever again. But if Keith wants to play this game, then Shiro’s not going to lose. “You were the one who insisted on calling me that all day.”

Keith growls, his shoulders flexing against the restraining grasp of Shiro’s hand.

Shiro doesn’t let up, but he kisses over Keith’s pulse, rolls his hips against Keith. “Say it.”

“Fuck— _Captain_. Touch me, damn it, I—”

Shiro laughs; even like this, desperate and needing and beaten at his own game, Keith still manages to sound petulant and snarky, and it’s gorgeous and sexy and everything that Shiro loves. He moves, slower than Keith wants, dragging his hand over the tight muscle of Keith’s abdomen, finally closing around the thick hot length of Keith’s cock.

He strokes hard and fast, letting his thrusts drive Keith’s dick into his fist. Keith falls forward, his hands still held in Shiro’s Altean fist, bracing his forearms so he can push back against Shiro and rock forward into his hand, and his head falls back against Shiro’s shoulder. Sweat pools at the small of Keith’s back, slicking the way as Shiro grinds hard against Keith’s ass.

This had started as a game, with Keith calling him _Sir_ and _Captain_ in _that_ tone of voice all day until Shiro was boiling over. But it’s not either of those words that spill from Keith’s mouth when he comes—it’s Shiro’s name. And it’s that sound—his name, voiced with such desperation and need from Keith’s mouth—that sends Shiro over the edge too, gasping his release into the back of Keith’s neck.

———

When they finally manage to detach themselves from the wall, stumbling out of the remainder of their clothes and Keith’s armor, it’s to make their way to Shiro’s bed where they collapse in a heap. Shiro makes a perfunctory effort to clean them both up—despite Keith’s protests, who is doing his best to cling to Shiro like a limpet—and to drag the sheets out from their military tucks to cover them both.

He feels heavy, weighed down by more than Keith’s body sprawled across him, the meagre blankets spread over them. Keith’s eyes are already closed, but he’s not asleep, and there’s a little hum in the back of his throat that makes Shiro smile. He closes his own eyes, tucking his face into the unruly mess of Keith’s hair, feeling sleep already starting to tug at him.

Then, from across the floor, in the mess of their discarded clothes, comes the faint beep of one of their communicators.

Keith twitches at the sound and makes a noise like an angry cat. “Ignore it,” he says, but he’s already stirring, flopping off of Shiro so that they can both pour out of bed to paw through their pants to check for messages.

“Mine,” Shiro says, holding it up to show Keith. “It’s Sam.”

Keith grumbles again, checks his own just in case before tossing it onto the table in the corner. “Guess being Captain of the Atlas makes you a popular guy.”

Shiro smiles crookedly at Keith. “Almost as much as being the head of Voltron.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You want me to come?”

“No, you get some rest.”

Keith nods, and starts to collect the pieces of his armor and flight suit. Shiro catches him by the arm.

“Hey. Why don’t you just—stay here.”

Keith freezes, fixing him with an unblinking purple stare. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shiro nods, squeezing his bicep. Keith’s skin is warm under his hand. “I’d like it if you were here when I got back.”

It’s hard to tell in the dark room, but Shiro thinks he sees a flush of color on Keith’s cheeks. He smiles. “Yeah, okay.”

He tucks himself back into Shiro’s bed while Shiro tugs his uniform back into place, grimacing at the state of his pants and switching them out for a clean pair—the last ones hanging in the closet. He bends to kiss Keith before leaving, and Keith clutches him tight before he lets him go.

“See you later, _Captain_ ,” he says, mischief in his eyes.

Shiro blushes, and it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Go to sleep, Keith.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh my god,” Shiro says, but he laughs along with Keith as he lets himself out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm on twitter [@maccachino!](http://twitter.com/maccachino)


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